


I'm gonna light a spark (gonna hold my breath until the morning)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16107224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Derek hates the bus, hates how people use it as an excuse to sit close to him and bat their eyelashes at him. And then this stranger who smells like home just falls asleep on his lap.





	I'm gonna light a spark (gonna hold my breath until the morning)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I’m only running on 5 Red Bulls and a coffee and woah dude didn’t mean to sleep on your lap the whole bus ride 
> 
> So yeah, this happened.

Derek hates the bus. He hates it with a fiery passion and uses what his older sister calls his Evil Eyebrows to attempt to glare everyone into submission if they even think about getting close to him. 

It usually works. 

Until it doesn’t. 

“Sorry dude,” the guy who plops down next to him is jittery. “My legs are kind of not working right now, so I gotta sit in your personal bubble.”

He doesn’t want to look at the guy, so he only gives him a stern nod before going back to mentally preparing his freshman American History seminar. How many times can he reference Hamilton while still pretending that he’s never heard of it? He probably has a couple more classes before the students catch on - and by then it’ll be too late for them to drop the class. 

It works for him, being the angry luddite of the history department. Let them believe the only Macs he knows are burgers at McDonald’s. 

“Whoops,” personal bubble guy leans over a bit too far. “Sorry ‘bout that. Fuck, I’m so tired.”

At least he didn’t call Derek “dude” this time. He’s a PhD student, and he didn’t shave this morning, so he looks old enough not to be called dude. 

Derek doesn’t respond to the stranger, not even when the leaning thing happens again and the guy still doesn’t correct his course when Derek pointedly shakes the man off his shoulder. No, instead he falls right into Derek’s lap. 

Literally. 

As in, the stranger’s face is just a few inches from getting bopped in the back of the head with Derek’s quickly hardening dick. 

It’s just the wiggling, just the fact that he has been far too busy grading midterms to go out and do something about his frustration - and that all the bars are far too populated with students for him to feel comfortable doing anything even remotely flirtatious. 

Fuck, why is this guy not keeping still? 

Derek doesn’t dare move him, barely dares to look at him, barely dares to breathe because he really does not want to make this situation any worse than it already is. 

Finally, finally, the stranger has made himself comfortable on Derek’s lap, hand on Derek’s knee as the man’s slender fingers fidget against the fabric of his slacks. The man shudders happily, humming softly as he drifts off completely. 

Then, Derek looks at him, curses under his breath and wills his body to calm the fuck down. 

Messy hair, moles that look like a constellation mapping the side of his face that Derek can see. The stranger’s eyes are closed but his long eyelashes curl and his sweet mouth is opened slightly in sleep. His heartbeat is steady and while he smells faintly of chemicals, his scent positively reeks of sugar and cinnamon and home. 

He’s just Derek’s type, and he smells of home, of the woodsy scent of the Beacon Hills Preserve and of the cinnamon hot chocolate served at Beacon Coffee & Treats. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, softly, trying not to wake this not quite stranger. 

The bus keeps moving away from campus, past Derek’s stop and further into the crowded city center. He’ll have to take the next bus back to his apartment, but he can’t wake up the man on his lap.

People are staring at them, women cooing pathetically over the consistently grumpy man holding this stranger in his lap without even a hint of his customary anger. He scowls at the people trying to take pictures, hiding the sleeping man’s face with his arms because people are invasive assholes. 

Has he ever been this protective over someone who wasn’t pack? 

Maybe this man is pack though, or he is supposed to be. 

“Adorable,” the teenage girl sitting across the aisle is giddy with excitement. 

Derek is not above using the Evil Eyebrows (damn it, Laura) against a harmless teenager. Well, mostly harmless - she reminds him of his students, and none of those hormonal messes are harmless, not ever. 

Another one of the girl’s squeals slips out as she gets out at the second to last stop, and of course that is the reason the stranger slowly starts to wake up, eyelids fluttering as he starts to wriggle in Derek’s lap again. 

It is… distracting, to say the least. 

“Whuh?” the guy exclaims. 

That is probably supposed to be a word, but Derek doesn’t recognize it. Not that he cares too much about that, because the man’s eyes have opened and they’re a warm molten amber that he recognizes somehow. 

The half-lidded eyes focus on Derek, widen, and the man pulls himself up from his lap in one less than graceful movement. 

“Dude I am so sorry,” a flailing arm almost hits Derek in the face. “Did I sleep on you the whole time? I am an idiot! I’ve been running off Red Bull and caffeine for like three days now - guess it finally hit me. Or I hit you and your seriously comfortable lap. I’m sorry.” 

Did he really need to say that he was comfortable? Did he? Because for Derek’s sanity’s sake, it would have been better if those words hadn’t made it out of that soft mouth. 

“Na- ‘S fine,” he grumbles. 

“Did I make you miss your stop?” the other man just keeps talking. “Because you have to let me pay you back for that. Or I can buy you a coffee - for you not for me, because the last thing I need is more coffee. Caffeine is a fickle mistress, and I think she and I will be on the outs for a while.”

What the hell is he supposed to say to that? 

He is saved by the bus driver, announcing the final stop and reminding everyone to not leave their shit on the bus when they get the hell off. Not in those words, but the look in the driver’s eyes conveys the message clearly enough. 

“Come on, Sourwolf,” his neighbor has gotten up, impish grin on his face. 

Derek lets his eyebrows do the talking on that one, because anything he says at this point would come out as a seriously damning growl. His anger is not on a short leash anymore, not like it was in high school and undergrad, but any time someone risks exposing him, he has to be ready for battle. 

His hands itch, claws ready to come out. 

How does this guy even know?

“This is a claw free zone,” the stranger warns, a spark of light catching between the long fingers reaching out for Derek. 

Magic! How did he not smell this before? Most practitioners carry the scent of sulfur with them, but not this man. 

As he climbs off the bus, he is more than a little wary of getting too close to the stranger. Still, he can’t stop himself from following. He has to know, has to make sure that this isn’t another… mistake. 

“I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?” the man grins at Derek as they head towards the nearest coffee shop. “No powers, just a spark, really. But it means that I know people like you. So you’re probably a bit more suspicious of my dazzling charms than others would be. So, hi, Stiles. That’s me. Stiles Stilinski.”

Stilinski. Beacon Hills. Right. That’s easy. That makes sense. That feels true, instead of like a trap. Like her. 

“Sheriff,” Derek speaks his thoughts out loud. “Your dad is Sheriff Stilinski.”

This time Stiles is the one looking suspicious of Derek - and for once it’s about something other than his Creeper Face™ (thanks, Cora). 

“Derek,” he grunts. “Derek Hale.”

They’re in line for coffee, and he can already tell that it is bound to get uncomfortable soon. There is a teenage girl taking orders, and there is already a blush on her cheeks just from catching Derek’s eye once. He really does not want to have to be an asshole to her, but realistically speaking? Bound to happen. 

“Of  _ the _ Hales, of course,” Stiles snaps his finger like he’s some kind of cartoon character making an important connection. “The Beacon Hills Hales. Sorry I didn’t recognize you dude - it’s been a while.” 

Laura is going to laugh at him so hard when she finds about this, about Stiles Stilinski sleeping on his lap and Derek just letting him. She is going to laugh, and taunt and tease him mercilessly about how the Sheriff would have his shotgun ready if Derek touches his very much legal son. 

Because Laura loves drama - Derek is pretty much the only family member who missed out on that gene. Uncle Peter has his portion covered, though. 

“I haven’t been back much,” Derek mutters. 

He loves his family, he really does, but they are… a bit much. They are overbearing in their attempts to force him to be happy, when he clearly doesn’t deserve one bit of it after what almost happened. What he let happen to their family - what would have been his fault. His secret that almost killed them all. 

It should have killed him, and him alone. 

Derek is quiet while they wait for their drinks - black tea for Derek and hot chocolate for Stiles - because he is not good with words. He doesn’t know Stiles, no matter how much his wolf tells him that he smells like he could be, should be pack. He just has to ignore the pull. 

The barista is staring at Derek and Stiles has noticed, but he hasn’t called any attention to it. He probably does not want to embarrass the girl - or he recognizes the look from how he used to moon over Lydia Parrish. She was Lydia Martin back then, and the whole town knew of Stiles’ crush. 

Even Derek Hale, and he didn’t even know those kids - still doesn’t. He blames Cora. She always knows too much about everyone. 

“This hasn’t been nearly as awkward as I thought it would be,” Stiles sips his hot chocolate triumphantly, barely keeping it from spilling all over himself. “Usually when I end up in someone’s lap, it’s not to sleep. And they’re not nearly as gruff and attractive. I picked a damn good lap to fall asleep on. Very comfy.” 

It is easier to focus on his tea. Forming a response to this… that would lead to him actually bonding with Stiles Stilinski. 

“At least I’m not the only one who’s blushing,” Stiles just keeps going even without a verbal response from Derek. “Your ears blush. It’s cute. I mean, it’s… Yeah, I said it’s cute. I’m sticking with it. Because it’s true.” 

And the idea of that is terrifying. Too risky. Derek is too much of a stranger to good judgment when it comes to relationships. 

Paige.  _ Her _ . Jennifer. The thing with the incubus. Stiles? 

“Thanks?” Derek has to say something - right? 

“I’m babbling again,” Stiles’ grin looks a little less bright. “Sorry, dude. It’s probably super annoying, but with the whole lack of sleep and caffeine overdose I probably forgot to take a whole bunch of Adderall and my brain’s kinda not amused.” 

Something tells him Stiles has experience with apologizing for being himself. 

“It’s not,” Derek mumbles. 

He doesn’t want an apology, doesn’t want Stiles to leave thinking that Derek is just another person who couldn’t see his worth. Doesn’t want him to leave, period. 

His instincts are extremely fucked up, but he’s listening to them anyway. It’s not a decision he made, it’s more like something that happened when Stiles fell onto his lap and Derek both wanted his mouth (anywhere, everywhere) and wanted to card his fingers through Stiles’ messy hair to soothe him. 

“What was that, Sourwolf?” 

Looking at Stiles is hard - he’s baring parts of himself that he’d rather stay hidden. He’s being vulnerable and open and everything that made  _ Her _ sit up and take notice. 

“Annoying, ‘s not annoying,” he has to hide his face, growling down at the pavement. 

That way Stiles can’t tell how vehement he is about this. How passionate he is about telling this virtual stranger that he’s not too much, not annoying - when Derek is the kind of person who cannot stand people in general. 

“You’re not even lying,” Stiles smells pleased, warm and soft and happy. 

Derek tries to hide how affected he is, sipping his tea carefully and trying not to look at Stiles too much - an impossibility, now that he knows he has made Stiles happy. His wolf is just about ready to purr in contentment. 

“We should do this again,” Stiles exclaims, big gestures to prove his point. 

“You sleeping on me?” Derek knows his eyebrows are raised. 

He makes Stiles laugh, loudly - a sound that he falls in love with immediately. Stiles laughs with his whole body. His head is tilted, exposing a neck that Derek can’t stop himself from staring at. 

“That sounds like a third date activity,” Stiles appears more mischievous now, a spark in his eyes that has nothing to do with his magical abilities. “Or more like a post-third date activity. After you’ve worn me out.” 

His wolf preens, because not only is the man who smells like pack talking about dates, but he is already planning ahead. Far enough ahead that Derek the man is concerned about screwing it up before they get there. 

“No pressure,” Derek wryly remarks, trying not to start worrying. 

“I’m a grad student,” Stiles puts a hand on his arm. “I’m easy. And with your wolfy stamina, I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about.” 

Red ears are a certainty - he must be blushing all over at this point. Not that Stiles is unaffected. 

They walk side by side, heading for the bus that will take them back home, to their separate homes. It is much less busy now, rush hour has passed somehow and the bus is practically empty compared to what he usually deals with. 

Derek nods at the bus driver as he steps into the bus, and tries not to stare too much at Stiles’ ass in front of him. He fails. 

“There is so much room,” Stiles waves his arms around, almost hitting an unsuspecting bus seat. “I can’t choose. Where should I sit?” 

There are plenty of open seats. If it were anyone else… 

“Just sit down,” Derek huffs. 

“Right,” Stiles grins. “Just making sure I don’t fall asleep on any other unsuspecting passengers. Don’t worry, Sourwolf. You’re still the comfiest pillow.” 

Derek has to get off first, but Stiles leans his head on his shoulder the entire way there. His hand is on Derek’s thigh, thoroughly distracting him from anything but Stiles. 

His lesson plans will have to wait until he’s not forced to keep his breathing steady to keep Stiles from understanding just how much pull he has over Derek. He’ll figure it out before the first date is over, but for now, he gets to have this. 

All of Beacon Hills finds out in about five seconds. 

Stiles grins and Derek bears it. 

The bus isn’t so bad these days. 


End file.
